


Transfiguration

by Nilozot



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Anal Sex, Blood Magic, Bottom Dean, Captivity, Childbirth, Dom/sub, Forced Bonding, Forced Pregnancy, Inappropriate Use of Hebrew, Kink Meme, M/M, Mpreg, Orgasm Control, POV Monster, Somnophilia, Soul Bond, Stockholm Syndrome, Stranger Sex, Succubi & Incubi, Top Castiel, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-14 18:05:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3420398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nilozot/pseuds/Nilozot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fourteen-year-old Dean has been captured by a tribe of monsters intent on bringing his warrior strength into their bloodline. The leader's heir, Castiel, would ultimately prefer not to bond with a mate so young, but honor is at stake, so he initiates Dean's transformation into one of the clan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The taking

**Author's Note:**

> SPN kink meme Feb 2015. Prompt: "Dean is kidnapped by a community of monsters after John gains their respect by taking out one of their champions. To these creatures, their leaders have to marry to someone from a line of warriors worthy to join in their bloodline. Dean being a teen is young enough to be trained to become their prince's consort. Castiel is the current heir and he'd have much preferred to marry someone out of love. But being the next in line for the throne, that's not an option for him. So when he's mated to Dean, and he has to publicly claim the young human warrior, he tries to make it good for Dean. Dean though only sees it as a monster raping him, since no one bothered to tell him what was going on. Once claimed, Dean slowly starts turning into whatever species Castiel is, and it's up to Cas to teach him and help him adapt to his new state. Especially since he'll have to claim him again, and next time, Dean will most likely end up pregnant out of it."
> 
> Note: The monsters here, the estries, were in Jewish legend a cross between vampires and succubi, plus they fly. Generally they were thought of as female, but hey this is slash, so adjustments were made.

“ _That's_ the offspring of the warrior that defeated Zerachiel? Looks more like an afternoon snack,” joked Raphael, as they unceremoniously dumped the trundled boy in the courtyard. Castiel winced as he watched the young human struggle against his bonds; although he was tall and lithe, and beautiful in the face, the boy hardly filled a water bowl in the shoulders. Barely old enough to mate. His hair had been mutilated to less than a finger-length off the top of his head, as the humans were wont to do. Disgusting.

“Gadriel,” Castiel called out to the lead of the reconnaissance party, “are you sure this is the _older_ son?”

“Certainly, honored one. The younger offspring is still a physiological child. Too old to be taken as a changeling, though, he would surely remember. We reasoned a recently mature human would be preferable to the warrior himself or his more distant cousins, for a boy could more easily adapt to the transformation and his new exalted position in life. Plus,” – the warrior licked his lips – “his blood tastes very sweet.”

Castiel glared the cocky warrior for his admission. “You _tasted_ him? Did you defile my prize by letting him taste you? Answer honestly, subling.”

The subordinate shrank back and dropped his gaze at the rebuke. “Of course not, honored one. He was wounded – superficially – in the taking, and it was difficult to resist a tiny lick. The young one is an excellent prize,” he added. “Despite his fragile appearance, he struggled valiantly in the taking and injured three of the other underlings, and nearly escaped twice in the journey back here. We finally had to mark him with a soporific for the flight up the mountain. He's just now coming out of it.”

Castiel studied the boy lying on his side in the dust, ankles restrained and hands tied behind his back. He in turn was studying them all with hard green eyes, without evident fear, although Castiel could smell that intermingled with his the bravado. “Was he aroused by the soporific?” he asked Gadriel.

“Yes, honored one. He was not allowed release.”

“Good,” Castiel murmured. “Have him taken to my bathhouse, cleaned up and dressed appropriately. If he still has the presence of mind to fight back, have the _mekashef_ dose him with some calming herbs. Obviously he should not be exposed to any more pheromones before the ceremony.”

The subling nodded and bowed, then motioned for more underlings to drag the boy away. As they approached, the human managed to swing his legs violently to one side, tripping an unsuspecting underling and causing him to fall face-first in the dirt. Castiel stifled a laugh.

“A prize indeed. Does the boy have a name?”

“We believe it was Dean, honored one. Will you change it?”

“Dean,” repeated Castiel. _Judgment_ in the ancient language. It was difficult to say whether the name was prophetic or ironic, considering the boy's current state of helplessness. Time would tell. “I will keep it for now, assuming he psychologically adapts. If not, an additional breakdown of his identity may be required. Go now and fetch the _mekashef,_ Gadriel, he's trying to bite the underlings.”

Castiel spread his black wings and lazily flapped them, billowing dust across the rocky plaza. As he expected, Dean rolled at the sound and stared at the wings' expanse, as far from tip to tip as a person was tall, with wide eyes. Castiel could smell the fear more strongly now, but also awe, and respect. The boy wasn't panicking, which boded well for his future adaptability. He would need it, for the changes to come.

So very, very young, he wasn't at all what Castiel had in mind as a mate. Despite his father's edict that they locate worthy bloodlines of other species to bolster their own. Castiel still maintained the fantasy of choosing his own mate, one already imbued with alluring strength and dignity. This little one might someday attain effortless power, the potential was certainly there, but it would likely take many years of patient coaching to make him truly worthy. Ah, well, such was fate. The _estrie_ could only take one other being as their true mate – it was their people's greatest weakness, and the primary reason their numbers were low while the profligate humans spread like vermin over the face of the Earth – so the boy had a heavy burden to bear. It was Castiel's challenge to mold him into a consort to his liking. Barring that, he hoped Dean had the _ruach_ to birth several vigorous offspring before his body's spirit waned and failed. It took energy to turn a changeling, even more to procreate the full immutable glory of the estrie.

He would see at the ceremony tonight. That would have to be enough.

 

^^^^^^^

 

As was traditional, the changeling ceremony was held just after dusk, the beginning of the estrie day. They were creatures of the night, and it was now, even before moonrise, that their power was at its height. The ceremony would not bond the young Dean to Castiel, for that wasn't possible with an animal, as the estrie classified the humans. To mate, first Dean had to metamorphosize into one of them, a difficult and dangerous prospect even for the infants they occasionally stole. For one closer to adulthood, it required a great deal of blood magic, equivalent to the _ruach_ the animal already possessed. That was followed by an infusion of _zera,_ reproductive energy supplied by sexual intercourse. Castiel would provide that of course, for it would predispose them to each other even without the true bonding.

The boy had been scrubbed practically until he gleamed, and dressed in shimmering green robes with the rear draped open for all the world to see his smooth wingless back. His obscenely short hair was still wet and matted against his skull. Castiel hoped the ceremony would provoke the hair to grow out in a timely fashion, for it marred the boy's other beauteous attributes. Castiel frowned as he observed the restraints – they had Dean positioned on the stone altar on his hands and knees, his wrists and ankles shackled together and tightly bound to the rock. He was crouched down hugging his knees as tightly as his bonds permitted, seemingly resting but his eyes betrayed that notion; they darted around the room taking in all the proceedings, and still looking to escape. The odor of his fear, along with the herd of other human animals they had penned up for the sacrifices, permeated the spacious enclave.

Castiel glided over to his father Anael, already overseeing the proceedings. “Why is the boy restrained? We risk some of his soul energy bleeding out if his fear is severe. He must be enticed, seduced.”

Anael looked over the furrowed form of his firstborn child. So strong-willed, he approached disobedience at times. “The herbs failed to subdue him. His spirit is exceptionally strong, so I think he will turn out to be an excellent pick. Do you have the strength to bend him to your will, Castiel? If not, I can always allow one of your brothers the opportunity.”

Castiel straightened up at the implied loss of prestige, his wings unfurling just a twitch. “No, honorable father. I can handle the boy. I was merely suggesting it would be more efficient to coax his cooperation.”

“If you think your scent is sufficient to ensure cooperation and not have a human running amok in the theater, then by all means, untie him after he's been dosed. Know that he's already ripped hair out of your bath attendant today, though. The boy's a wildling.”

Castiel bowed at his father's permission, and withdrew to the side of the arena to make his final mental preparations. The human sacrifices across the vast hall were already bleating and wailing, so the potion master was administering a muting salve to their throats in order to remove their voices. It wouldn't do for animal screaming to mar the Sacred Chorus. The mekashef moved to the middle of the space and rubbed some of the substance on Dean's neck as well, and Castiel approvingly noted the boy did not resist or attack.

The full community of estrie filed down the slate stairs into the amphitheater, and encircled the altar wing to wing. The ten honored elders swooped up to their traditional perches atop towers surrounding the arena, to observe and approve the proceedings. As the stars blinked on one by one, they were ready for the ceremony to begin.

The elders began a subsonic hum that reverberated around the stony bowl in the mountainside. Even the humans stopped trembling as they sensed it, entranced by its call. Even Dean raised his head up and placed his palms down on boulder, straining to perceive the holy harmony. The _shochet_ and his assistants took the opportunity to start the sacrifices, restraining the humans one by one and slicing cleanly across their necks, to swiftly drain them of all blood. The blood-filled cups were passed around the community, first to Castiel who drank the most, then less to Anael and his other living offspring, then mere sips to the rest of the estrie. Twenty humans they sacrificed, and as the twentieth's life force poured out, the harmony and melody began to change.

With each gulp Castiel's strength and desire to taste the young human increased. This was no mere feeding, as the estrie normally fed, arousing an unsuspecting human animal in its sleep and draining what they needed during copulation. It wasn't just the blood that nourished, but the arousal itself allowed a transfer of the animal's spirit along with the blood. Tonight, on this rarest of evenings, Castiel would transmit some of that spirit back into a human, only _changed_ into something sublime, something sacred. As the chorus shifted yet again, voices added and complexity building, he could feel the transformative magic pouring into his veins. Castiel was a vessel and a messenger, waiting to breathe the holy power into his young charge.

Castiel approached Dean on the altar, still huddled on his knees. At the beginning he simply ran a cold hand along the boy's exposed back, entranced by the warm pulsing body beneath him. At this first touch the resonant music swelled, heightening the energy to a peak. All of the estrie were singing now save Castiel, their voices pure and sanctified. Dean arched his back away from the contact, the smell of his fear roiling off him, so Castiel released the pheromone to dose him with his most powerful soporific. And as Dean relaxed and closed his eyes, Castiel bent over for the first taste.

He bit just over the human's right shoulder blade, and without moving his lips, sucked the luscious liquid. Gadriel had be correct; he did indeed taste sweet. Despite the anesthetizing element in the pheromones, Dean still hissed through his nonfunctional voice box. It was extraordinarily tempting to keep going, drain him slowly through the trickling wound as one would a regular meal, but Castiel restrained himself. Instead he straightened up and bit his own wrist, and pressed his own gash against the wound on Dean's back. The estrie blood flowed into the boy, and he let out a strangled cry and tried to rattle his restraints as his back bubbled and popped. There was no escaping the transformative magic that would grow his very first wing.

Castiel circled Dean and repeated the ritual over his left shoulder. The boy was panting and struggling hard, although his eyes were unfocused through the dissociating effects of the soporific. The fear was still present but now interlaced with arousal, as expected from the dosing. The fact that boy still had the presence of mind to resist, though, meant that the magic would not permeate as well as it should. Holding his wrist closed, Castiel circled him again, observing the boy fighting even though his muscles were starting to fail. He let the magic work, as the chanting in the amphitheater droned onwards, driving the spell into Dean's thin frame. Finally, when the boy slumped forward with his face into his bound hands, Castiel knelt down to meet him eye to eye.

“You must submit, my mate,” Castiel murmured, although the boy could not understand him. Lessons in the ancient language would begin the very next day, but for now Castiel simply hoped a sense of soothing comfort would break through. “If you continue to struggle, it's possible this will fail. And it would be a shame to waste such a powerful soul. Look at me.” Dean's head snapped up through some instinct, although his eyes were filled with anguish and hate. Castiel ignored those immature emotions and ran his closed fingers along his smooth cheek, dosing him even more through the contact. Dean's breath caught; he closed his eyes again while Castiel cupped his chin to keep it up, then pressed the dripping wound on his wrist to the boy's lips.

“Drink, drink,” Castiel continued in a low voice. “Drink until the urge stops. Your soul knows when it's had enough.” Dean resisted for only a second until the first taste crossed his tongue. Then, like a flipped switch, he wrapped his mouth around the opening and sucked in greedy gulps. And now it was Castiel's turn to gasp, for he was shocked at the pleasurable compulsion to let a mere _child_ siphon him off.

Castiel had witnessed the ceremony dozens of times and was well aware of the addictive power for both donor and receiver of estrie blood magic. But it was another matter to _feel_ it, have the overwhelming and eerie urge to give and give until _he_ the one drained and desiccated on the ground. An impossible reversal, but here he was, practically begging a pretty little animal to reduce his mighty soul to ash. At no other time had Castiel understood the force of reproduction like he did at that moment. He foresaw he would give of himself, and this fiery boy would give even more down to his very bones, and the two of them would produce some creature far beyond the sum of their souls.

Eventually Castiel felt himself weaken from the loss of blood and _ruach_ – another shock. Just when he thought he had reached his limit, that he would be permanently injured, Dean broke it off, gasping and coughing. Castiel pulled a pretreated cloth out of the pocket to his robe to rapidly staunch the bite, and used the uninjured hand to stroke his face again.

“Good, little one, very good. One more ritual to go, and you can rest and let the blood magic work.” The ever-present music shifted as Castiel spoke, pulsing now with a sexual rhythm. Dean's eyes were no longer reflecting hate or terror, but confusion. Castiel knew he felt good from the receiving of the blood, and he hoped that the final phase would be pleasurable as well. The boy probably expected to be torn to pieces by the monsters, and Castiel was determined to prove his hunter-tainted mind wrong. It was _better_ to be a self-disciplined estrie than a weak human. No anguish, no horror, no scarring, only strength through obedience and power.

Castiel circled round behind Dean, resisting the impulse to disrobe him and run his hands all over the boy's limber body. At the true bonding there would be time for private exploration, but this was a public ceremony and decorum must be maintained. In all the times Castiel had fed on humans, opening them up between the legs and in the vein, he'd never felt more than the primal urge to eat. Intercourse was pleasant enough, but he'd never experienced attraction before, a desire for sex with one person alone. Already he was thinking of Dean as a person; the blood magic must have altered the boy's soul.

Dean was on huddled with his stomach on his knees again, and Castiel gently slid a hand underneath him to lift his ass up. He pushed up with his arms so he was on all fours, but his limbs were still rubbery from the soporific. Castiel lifted his robe from behind to just expose the butt, and decided to risk unshackling at least his legs in order to spread him apart. With a focused touch, the bonds opened and fell.

Castiel nudged the boy's legs open, still standing off to one side so he could observe Dean's face. He looked to be in a fugue, passive and obedient. Castiel reached between his knees and slowly pumped his adult-sized cock, watching for a rebellious reaction. Dean squeezed his eyes shut and a whiff of fear returned, but otherwise he rocked into the motions.

“Good, good,” Castiel muttered again, more to himself than the boy. “Stay relaxed, and this won't hurt at all.” He positioned himself behind Dean, and with his hand slowly cut off circulation to just the right point on Dean's cock to prevent ejaculation. Dean did squirm then, even thrusted a bit into Castiel's firm hand. Castiel waited patiently and the boy settled down, back to his loose-limbed stance.

With the other hand pulling on his hip, Castiel pushed Dean open bit by bit with his cock. There was no need for oil like the humans that performed similar acts, for the estrie genitals produced copious lubrication. He slid in barely a fingernail's worth at a time, resting for a few seconds between pushes to let his young lover acclimate to his girth. Castiel kept his hand on Dean's cock the entire time; he couldn't be allowed to come until after receiving the _zera_.

Finally after several measured minutes, Castiel pushed his full length in. Dean's cock spasmed in his hand, and Castiel knew he had grazed the human male organ that brought so much extraneous pleasure. He rubbed the small of Dean's back, murmuring more reassurances, and then began to move. Again he kept it as gentle as possible, while still hitting the correct spot. Dean huffed through his voiceless mouth and kept his stance on his legs, although he didn't rock back.

Dean's cock was hot and throbbing and the boy began to shake, so Castiel knew he needed to complete himself lest the poor boy's body break down into a dry orgasm. He sped up, slapping into Dean deeply, driving himself to his own overwhelming pleasure. Again the giving of some of his energy and soul felt so befitting, so _right._ Castiel knew he could be injuring the boy, but in those scant few minutes it was difficult to concern himself with temporary abrasions of the flesh. All that mattered was to fill him with come, hold his trembling body closed so it would expand out and fill him and let the burning magic transform him from the bottom up, just as the blood had from the top of his head down.

Only then, when he had plugged Dean closed and deep for over a minute, did he release his hand and let the boy come. Dean violently shook and flopped his head back down, but Castiel held his hips up and his own cock firmly in place while his muscles pleasingly clenched all around him. He could well imagine doing this every night, mounting him and coming together, perhaps more vigorously once the transformation was completed and he was trained.

At last when Dean was spent, Castiel carefully withdrew, watching Dean's muscles contract behind him. He lowered the boy's butt down to the side, to keep the precious fluid in just a little longer. Castiel stood up and adjusted his robes.

The Chorus suddenly stopped.

In the abrupt silence Castiel could hear the great gulping gasps coming from Dean's buried face. He walked around and gently brought his chin up, and only then saw the tears pouring from the boy's luminous eyes.

 


	2. School

Dean sluggishly drifted back to consciousness in the softest bed he'd ever slept in. Every square inch of his body burned or itched, and as he creaked a few muscles as a test, he could sense the sinister new bone jutting out from his back. Hungry, too, above and beyond a stabbing cramp way down below his stomach. Dean buried his face a few inches deeper in the fleecy pillow, willing his damned brain to work so he could assess the situation properly.

He'd been kidnapped by some kind of shrieking flying monsters. They had murdered people and drank their blood, so … vampires? Flying vampires with big-ass black wings and shiny long girly hair? Christ, he had no idea. Dad didn't always get into to the specifics of the creatures they hunted, so despite the fact that Dean was sometimes allowed along – occasionally, on days trips – he didn't really know the lore. Little Sammy would probably have a more of a clue, what with his books and proto-Semitic-Latin-Canaanite lessons or whatever he was getting into at Bobby's over the summers.

The things had flown him to this mountaintop, he remembered, then there had been baths. Before and after, the baths, and the second time he just wanted to get clean forever, let the warm comforting water fill him and dilute out his blood and drown his tainted body in peace. They must have dragged him out and put him in bed, but that part was black. He remembered being tied down, and stared at, and inhuman singing that paralyzed the soul. He remembered the one creature with big blue eyes gagging his wrist in Dean's mouth to taste the blood, and then he didn't have to force it anymore because Dean suddenly _wanted_ it, sucked it down like he was dying of thirst on a hot day, while his body buzzed with pleasurable energy. Then he remembered being ra...

Dean couldn't complete the thought.

He must have wanted that too, Dean decided. He wasn't some naive kid about sex – he'd probably been all of about seven when he first spied Dad jerking it to some motel soft porn, and not too many years beyond that he was flipping through the cable channels himself. But Dean had never been harder than being tied down to that rock, his dick in that monster's hand. And although getting fucked hurt worse than he could have imagined, when he finally came it was the best orgasm of his short life, making his usual jack-off sessions in the shower seem like a chaste rubbing against the jeans. Porn _paled_ in comparison to the ecstasy that rolled through him at that moment, even as the demon was deep in his ass and his filthy come spreading like fire up to his belly. And then for a second the pleasure and horror mixed together had been too much; he had broken down, Dean was ashamed to remember, and that thing had _looked_ at him almost with sympathy, and Dean had wanted to slash its throat with his bare teeth.

Now, though, as he was coming to, Dean realized he needed to form a more coherent plan of escape. He could tell he wasn't tied down, and he hadn't heard or sensed so much as a shuffle since waking up, so he slowly moved his head to the side and half-opened his eyelids.

The same creature was sitting in a chair right in front of him, staring him straight in the eyes.

Dean jumped back in the bed, and shoved away the urge to bury his face again in the downy pillow. Dad would smack him upside the head for such a stupid thought: _Never_ turn your back on a monster. Even when you're their prisoner. You never know when the opportunity to kill them and escape will arise.

The monster opened its mouth and began to sing, their way of “talking” as he had figured out on the way up the mountain. This time it sounded a lot less like a band of fourth graders playing out of tune violins as loudly as possible. Odd. He could hear the underlying harmonics now, and a rhythm that could be words or sentences. Dean had no idea how he could possibly know that.

Ten seconds after the singing cut off, what looked like a wizened old gnome entered the room, barely four feet tall and with droopy gray wings and a deeply wrinkled face. He bowed to the creature on the chair, then turned to Dean and spoke – English, to Dean's surprise – in a sing-songy but recognizable cadence.

“The honorable Castiel, first and primary offspring of our honored leader Anael, wishes me to translate on this most difficult morning, your first as a estrie. I am Tomiel. I was changed as young adult, just as you are now being changed, and tasked with the burden of remembering my old unclean language. Do you wish to ask questions?”

 _Questions?_ What was this, like a job interview? “Um, yeah … what are you doing to me?” Dean blurted out.

The gnome tipped his head and narrowed his eyes, in a look of disapproval Dean recognized from every teacher ever. The look that said he didn't get something that should be obvious even to the dumb kids, and why was Dean Winchester wasting everyone's time? Dean _hated_ that look. Nevertheless the gnome translated his question, and the other one – Castiel, right? – responded evenly, without reproach and without lifting his piercing eyes off Dean to so much as glance at the gnome.

“Firstly, you are to refer to the honorable Castiel as the 'honored one' even in your last hours of speaking this unclean language, as befits your relative stations. Secondly, to answer your question, you have been permitted the sacred duty of expending your life force on offspring for the honorable Castiel. You will live out your remaining years as one of us, the honorable estrie.”

“Oh, really.” Dean crossed his arms, ignoring the searing pain rippling from his back. “You tell His Holiness that my Dad is hunting down his chicken ass right now, and will pluck every feather from his wings before he slits your throat.”

Castiel tilted his head at the translated song, and for the first time cricked his mouth in what could have been amusement before responding. “The honorable Castiel wishes to tell you that your father will never find you here. But even if he does, and somehow survives to summit the mountain, he would murder you too. For you are no longer human, and therefore no longer his son, but merely another nameless monster to hunt down and leave bleeding out in the sun.”

Dean shook his head, even as the doubt crawled into his rumbling belly. “No. Dad will find a way to change me back. I'm _family,_ you never leave family behind.”

“Your soul has already been permanently altered. Your body is changing as we speak. Will he even recognize you three days hence, when you have your wings, when your hair is grown out, when your belly is bulging with new winged offspring, when you must feed on humans to nourish your own child? You saw what sacrifices were necessary to transform you; would your father willingly kill twenty of his own kind to save you? Besides, he has another son to take your place.”

“I'm not cooperating with any of that,” Dean hissed, defiant, desperate. Dad _had_ to find a way. “You can cast all the spells you want, but _I'm not one of you._ So go fuck yourselves.”

In an instant Castiel pushed off the chair and flew the five feet to the bed, slamming Dean's abused back all the way down into the feathered covers. Before Dean knew what hit him, Castiel was sitting on top of his naked waist, pinning down his arms over his head, wings expanded and wrapped around the two of them so all Dean could make out from the blocked light was Castiel's face. He was horrified to realize that he half-hard just from Castiel's weight, and smell, and even the mesmerizing glare of his eyes only inches from his own face. Dean wriggled pitifully to try and free himself, but that did not help matters with his treacherous cock.

“The honorable Castiel wishes to tell you,” said the gnome with glee, “that you are not acting appropriately to your station as his potential mate. Allowances will be made on this first difficult day, but you are to speak with decorum and respect at all times.”

Dean decided right then, if he ever got the chance, he was stabbing that wrinkled son of a bitch in the eye first. “Or what?” he said, but the words were soft and submissive, not snarky.

“Or what, honored one?” the old estrie prompted, without translating.

“Or … what … honored … one,” Dean gritted out.

Castiel ran his fingers down the side of Dean's face. The gesture was tender, more intimate and loving than any touch Dean ever received from Dad or anyone else. For a second he wanted more, and then was disgusted with himself for wanting anything from this rapist monster, who apparently was planning on forcing him again. Then Castiel opened his mouth and sang again, very faintly just for Dean, so soft Dean was amazed Tom the Gnome could even overhear.

“If you still prove unworthy at the bonding two evenings from now, the honorable Castiel will take back your life force and retain the energy for his true mate. Know that you will have squandered the lives of all the humans sacrificed to transform you today. Know also that another twenty will need to be taken to transform another mate. If you prove unworthy, the honorable one will strongly consider waiting for your younger brother to come to a minimally acceptable age for mating, and take him in your stead.

“But the honorable Castiel does not think you will prove unworthy. Do you understand?”

Dean was struck with terror at the mention of Sammy. These monsters could destroy everyone he loved, and it was all on him now to prevent that from happening. If he cooperated, if he gave Castiel what he wanted, he could save lives in the short run. In the long run, maybe he could think of a way to kill them all, not just himself. Poison them, bring the mountain down, _something._ He was another sacrifice, Dean realized. Hunters always sacrificed themselves in the end. It was only a matter of time.

Dean stared back at Castiel directly in his eyes, and mutely nodded. He could do this. He could survive and go along.

Castiel curtly nodded back, and got up off him. The pressure off the jagged bones growing out of his back was a relief, but as he blinked in the sudden light Dean also felt the loss of his touch. He rolled to one side and covered himself with a fluffy comforter, still ashamed of his erection. Castiel ignored that and sat back in his chair, emitting a stream of clipped notes Dean somehow knew were orders.

“Now, for today, your schedule will be as follows. Firstly, you will eat. Your body does not contain enough mass to grow your wings properly, so physical sustenance is required. Secondly, you will received lessons from the mekashef on the ancient language.”

 _Lessons?_ Dean thought. Goddammit, kidnapped by monsters and he _still_ had to go to school.

“Thirdly, you will bathe with the honorable one, where he will assess your mental and physical progress. Then evening activities will be determined. Do you have questions?”

Dean's heart sank at the mention of that last one. Survival, one day at a time. One _hour_ at a time. He decided to risk one last potentially impertinent question, since they had given him the opening. “Are you going to make me, uh, feed off humans? Um, honorable one?”

“There was sufficient life energy in the sacrifices to sustain the transformation and establish pregnancy. You only need additional physical mass over the next few days. So do not worry about that for now.”

Dean shuddered at the word “pregnancy” and promptly tried to shove that one out of his mind for the moment. _One day at a time._ It was going to be like in Aliens, he imagined, some horrible goo creature exploding out of his stomach and devouring him from the inside. One thing Dad had taught him, the monsters always ate you in the end.

  


^^^^^

  


Castiel left then, to do some Important Monster Business that Dean could only imagine. Gnome stayed behind to translate, and they brought him a steaming gray lumpy stew to eat. The mash looked disgusting, with visible bits of cartilage and bone swirling around. Dean suddenly wondered if “feeding off humans” had a different meaning for the estrie – he didn't see any evidence of pigs or chickens up on this bare mountaintop – but decided he didn't have the guts to ask. The concoction smelled heavenly, however, and with his grumbling stomach he found he could down the whole bowl, gristle included.

Almost immediately after eating the stew, his back began to bristle and pop. Dean flopped forward and writhed on the bed, clutching the soft material as the bones for his new wings sliced outwards from his thin body. Agony wracked his back, and all he could do was stuff a face into a pillow and scream. Gnome watched him dispassionately from the sidelines as muffled obscenities escaped the bed.

“I was just like you once. Did this all before,” Tomiel said, as the pain subsided and Dean gasped for air. “You'll survive, and be better for it.”

“Fuck. You,” Dean managed, grateful he didn't have to spit out the odious “honorable one” to this guy's face.

Gnome gave him a hum that was also a _tsk-tsk._ “Respect, boy. Learn it or die, and condemn the rest of your family too. Your choice. This is what we get for choosing filthy _hunters_ as mates.”

“Oh, is that _disapproval_ I hear of your honored leader's decisions? Where did you come from, Prince of Egypt?” Now the pain merely felt like hot pokers stabbing him in the back, an improvement. “Hey, how come you didn't 'expend your life energy' popping out flying slime babies or whatever the fuck?”

“My mate was killed in battle after our first offspring, before my essence was consumed,” Gnome said evenly, without regret. “So my usefulness was diverted to other purposes. I wouldn't concern myself with such a fate if I were you. Castiel has enough strength to breed you many times over before you are drained and succumb, and there is little risk of him falling to other forces in the meanwhile. That is your fate, boy, steel yourself to it.”

Before Dean could retort on what he thought of being “bred” like a prize mare, another estrie entered the room. This one was willowy and tall, the same height as Castiel and one of the few Dean had seen with an almost feminine face. Dean recognized her from the ceremony as the one that had stolen all the human voices, and instinctively shrank back. “Who's this chick?”

Gnome frowned. “I do not recognize that word. He is the mekashef, the spell master. He will assist you in your learning of the ancient language today. Your mind is now capable of absorbing it. After this, you will be forbidden from ever using the unclean human language again, under the promise of punishment from your honorable mate. Do you understand?”

Dean sighed and shifted around, trying to find a comfortable position to sit in that didn't irritate the raw wingbones. He wished someone would give him some clothes to wear so he'd feel less vulnerable. “Yes, sí, hai, ja, I get it. No hablo inglés. Spell away.”

The mekashef mashed some leaves with a pestle and set it on fire, then forced Dean's head down into the bowl to inhale the smoke. He wordlessly hummed as he worked, and as Dean breathed in the acrid fumes the music _changed,_ into a tune old and beautiful and comforting and sorrowful. Through the smoke Dean understood the meaning of the music; it had nothing to do with the spell today, but had been the first and last thing the mekashef had ever heard as his dying parent birthed him. It was his way of communicating that one version of the old Dean would die today, and be reborn in a phoenix of music.

The tune faded, and now Tomiel's voice cut through the air. The English did seem harsh, ashen, _wrong_ after seeping sad lullaby. “Repeat after me. Replicate the melody _exactly_ as you hear it. Make an effort not to butcher it with your half-human vocal cords. _L'evod, avad, oved, ivad, avud, avod, ne'evad, yey'aved...”_

Dean closed his eyes and opened his mouth, and tried to sing.

  


^^^^^^

  


Hours of painstaking, throat-scratching croaks later, thousands of word-songs had been imprinted on Dean's mind. The spell granted him just enough auditory skill to be painfully aware of his own deficiencies at the language, and Tomiel did not contradict his opinion. They interrupted the lessons twice to bring him more bone stew, each time followed by an excruciating growth of the wingbones. They were about three-quarters to their full length now, featherless and still jutting out at odd angles instead of folding neatly along his back. By dusk Dean was ready to flop over onto his stomach for a deep sleep, although he had hardly left the bed all day. But instead he had to go to the bath to meet Castiel.

They didn't forcibly strip him down and toss him in this time, but let him disrobe in privacy at his own pace in a pre-bath scrub room. This was the first time Dean had been left alone since arriving on the mountain, and he took the opportunity to slowly examine first the room, then his own body to assess the damage. The wings were obvious, but less obvious was his hair grown out a good four inches in a single day, and fine downy gray fur-hairs growing all over his body. Something was going on down near his gut too. The cramping had not gone away, no matter how much he ate, and an area a few inches above his cock was hot and pulsing to the touch.

Just as he was bracing himself to go out and face Castiel, there was a knock at the door. It was a servant with another bowl of stew. “Before the bath?” Dean shakily sang.

The servant bowed. “The honored one will assist you. He bids you to drink and come in.”

Dean downed the stew – the ravenous hunger hadn't stopped all day – but he could hardly make it ten steps before being overcome by the agony of new growth. He leaned against the rocky wall along the edge of the pool, panting and trying not to moan in front of the being that had the power to judge Dean's “worthiness.”

Watching from a bench in the bath as Dean entered, Castiel called out, “Come in, child. The water will ease your pain.”

The symphonic words were not a request, and Dean stumbled over to the edge and fell in. The shock of hitting the water felt like every bone in his body had shattered, and like the day before he let himself sink, choking on his screams. But then he was suspended in the warm liquid, and strong arms pulled his head above water and wrapped around him. Despite the heat Dean shivered and curled next to Castiel's warm skin with its delicate fur. Castiel hummed a new song into his ear, more joyful and calming than the one from the mekashef, and bit by bit Dean's pain was indeed eased. Castiel gently stroked his face through the peak of the growth, and finally tapered off the song as Dean's shaking slowed.

“Do you understand me now, little one?” Castiel asked, still pressing Dean's head against his chest.

“Ye...yes,” Dean replied, trying to make the tune of the simple word sound correct. He should pull away, he thought, or at least feel awkward about clinging to a monster, but the contact was so soothing he didn't want to move unless ordered to.

“Your wing skeleton is almost complete. One more bowl, and then we will switch to feather meal tomorrow. But they are not laying properly.”

“I … do not know what to do … honored one.” The words rolled off the tongue in the monster's language, but sounded so stuffy when translated back to English in Dean's mind. He didn't have enough vocabulary to make it sound any other way, and wasn't sure a less formal version existed even for the native estrie. It was as if they were reshaping his personality, his very brain, with the content of the new language.

Castiel turned him around to examine the wings. “Your back muscles are tense and holding up the wings. Lean on the side of the pool.”

Again the order was tinged with compulsion, and Dean settled his head on top of his folded arms on the cool stone. Castiel dug his fingers into Dean's back at key points, which caused his skin to burn uncontrollably as it rubbed the raw bone. Dean bit down and pressed his forehead down on his arm, bucking back against the pressure Castiel was exerting. With a pop something slipped, and one wing folded obediently down along his back. A few seconds of pressure on the other side, and it too lay down flat. The burning and inflamed ache in his back immediately lessened.

“Better?” He stayed behind Dean's back, close, stroking his shaggy hair. The close proximity – touch, smell, he didn't know – triggered yet more involuntary arousal. Dean pressed himself against the side of the pool in embarrassment, but that just seemed to trap his body in place as Castiel pressed closer.

Dean nodded at Castiel's remark, still staring away from him at the far wall, unsure what he was supposed to do. “Thank you?” he ventured, not sure if additional formalities were required. Then he cleared his throat. “Thank you, honored one. Are you … going to test me now?”

Castiel laughed softly into his ear. “Do you think you are being tested, my mate?”

Dean's head swirled in a haze, and he suddenly _knew_ he was being drugged somehow. It was hard to care. He relaxed despite himself and leaned back against Castiel's form, and didn't object when the creature's hands wrapped around his chest and gently stroked his skin. “What is that? You're doing … something … to me.”

“Yes. A pheromone for human animals. This is the last day it will affect you. Tomorrow you will be more estrie than human, and you will come to me of your own free will.”

Castiel had never lied or bullshitted him, Dean realized. Despite everything, he appreciated that. “What if I say no?”

“You are aware of the consequences if you refuse to mate. Still, I will not tie you down and force you again.”

“Free will. Right.” Dean was rock hard now, and he brought a hand down to stroke himself near the wall.

Castiel grasped his wrist and pulled it away. “No. You are never to touch yourself without my permission.” He brought the hand back up the side of the pool and firmly pinned it palm down.

“But…you made me...do you just want to do it yourself?”

Castiel wrapped round a hand and pinched off circulation to Dean's cock, and he strangled back a cry. “This is to teach you self-control, youngling. Neither one of us will orgasm until the bonding. It is a waste of zera, sexual energy that should be directed to each other and our offspring. But you also need to learn to trust me, that I know when it's appropriate for you to hold back, or time for you to come with abandon.” He loosened his grip and slid along Dean's cock in the water for a few pumps, and Dean couldn't help emitting a little moan and rocking into it. He was only fourteen, on the verge of blowing it ten times a day, just wanted to feel a little bit good on this shittiest of days…

“Concentrate now. Hold yourself back. You can do it.”

Castiel pumped harder through the contradictory words, pushing Dean close to the edge. Dean desperately tried to think of the least arousing images to stop himself – Alien slime babies? Bobby's sweaty beer gut on a summer day? Gnome's cocksucker face? – and struggled hard against Castiel's insistent hand. “Please …I going to... I can't… please stop.” He couldn't keep up the tune and stuttered out the barely coherent words. One more stroke and he'd be babbling in English, to what punishment he didn't want to know.

At the last words, Castiel let out a sigh and released his cock. “Concentrate. Push the arousal back inside yourself. Empty your mind of everything but your will.”

Without the touching, Dean found he had the strength to rebound. He lay his cheek on the cool stone and flexed his fingers on the rough texture. He imagined his hard dick as a thing inside him, to push back or bring out at will. A little at a time, he dispersed the fullness out to other parts of his body. His legs, the burning spot in his gut, up to his chest, out to the alien wings. Dean let out a breath, and let the tension go.

“Yes, good,” Castiel was murmuring behind him. He had his hands on Dean's hips, pulling him back against a slight erection of his own, and Dean squeezed his eyes shut in concentration to avoid getting hard all over again. “You are able to control yourself, do you see? Tomorrow we can work on it with more stimulation. You've had a long day.”

“And tonight?” Dean asked dully. Evening activities? What now? He didn't know if he could get out of the bath without falling over.

“Sleep, child. Only sleep.”

  


 


	3. Birth

At dawn, the time when most estrie were settling down to rest, Castiel was nevertheless awake. The boy had been asleep for hours already, having not yet shifted to the normal nocturnal pattern of sleep. Castiel reached out and pulled Dean's nude back to nestle up towards his own. The boy was erect again, held in check by the restrictive beaded band wrapped around the length of his cock. The previous day Castiel had patiently coaxed his arousal for hours, to the edge and back down again, all the while teaching him mental tricks to hold himself back. Control over the sexual instinct was an essential skill for feeding on humans, as Dean would discover for himself in a few weeks when he'd be allowed off the mountain. For now Castiel was satisfied with his progress, but the night sleep was still a problem. Human animals unconsciously wasted sexual energy as they slumbered – another reason the estrie fed from them at that time – and Dean retained some of these last vestiges of his humanity.

Castiel buried his face in Dean's neck as the boy wriggled in discomfort and emitted a small moan along with the guttural mutterings of his old language. Despite the restrictions – or perhaps because of them, forbidding his release – sexual energy oozed off Dean, and Castiel couldn't help breathing it in. He was tempted to pull the boy's hips another few inches and push in, and suck down a gulp of that enticing frustration and tension, just for something more than a passive taste. It didn't help that Dean grew more beautiful by the hour, with his new shiny ink-black feathers and messy grown-out hair currently stuck to his sweaty head.

Castiel was certain he'd still have enough reserves to complete the bonding even if he came now, but after the efforts of the previous day it seemed more than a bit hypocritical. Besides, the boy had expressed irrational anxiety about being penetrated, so best to wait until he was conscious and capable of mentally adjusting to the position. Another lesson. Castiel enjoyed the instruction, more than he had thought when his father Anael, blessed be he, informed him that his mate would be yet another human changeling. There was something alluring in shaping a young creature to his will, pushing him to his limits and finding him worthy. Like what he imagined parenting his children would be like, only with the electric promise of great pleasure at the end.

Dean rolled over in the bed and snuggled his head against Castiel's chest. Behind the aura of sexual energy, Castiel could sense his _neshama,_ his newly-reformed higher soul, stretching out beyond his body. To Castiel's delight and surprise, he realized Dean was tasting _him,_ instinctively feeding off Castiel's own arousal. He let the boy drink, as best as could be done without intercourse, and wrapped his arms around him to stroke the soft new wings. Dean was almost estrie now, so close, and Castiel experienced an overwhelming desire to reach out and mingle their souls, to wake him up and implant the seed for a new child at this very moment.

But Castiel let that thought drift away, and renewed his focus on enjoying the young man's warm body against his own as took his own needed sleep. It was only another twelve hours to wait, and there was one more critical test for Dean to face before the clan approval, itself the prelude to the bonding. He needed to learn to fly.

 

^^^^^^

 

Late in the morning, after Dean had bathed, dressed, twitched through a meditation session to reduce his arousal, and ingested the final sustenance to grow the muscle that would serve as a womb, Castiel took him to a small launch site cut high in the stone cliffs. The trial would be two-fold. Obviously they would see whether Dean could keep himself aloft enough to prevent himself from smashing down the mountainside. But the real test was psychological: This was the first opportunity for Dean to attempt escape since his arrival.

In theory, if he proved adept he could simply fly away and reunite with his family, who as hunters would naturally search for a method of turning him back into a human. In reality underlings had been posted just outside of visual range, so he could be caught even from a direct swan-dive down the valley with the wind at his back. About half the mature humans they turned could not resist the impulse to flee at this stage, and had to be put down and energies reabsorbed into the clan. Castiel often thought it was unfortunate that the transformation took place over only three days, for more time would likely allow greater numbers to submit to their new honorable status. Such was the nature of the blood magic, however. It was more like flaring conflagration than a slow burn, its vast energies pouring out and consuming the old soul down to ash.

Dean walked out to the edge of the platform and peered down, seemingly heartened by being clothed and allowed out somewhere other than the ceremonial bedroom and bath. “I don't know, Cas,” he said, clipping off the song of the name in that oddly endearing way. Castiel had decided to let the informality slide, in the interests of pair-bonding, so long as he maintained proper etiquette in front of others. “Will these things really hold up my entire weight?” He waggled one wing for emphasis, looking rather like an awkward oversized baby bird.

“Yes. The magic redistributed some bone and muscle mass to your wings, so your body is lighter than it was,” Castiel explained. “Gliding is the easiest skill to learn, but you need to master coordination for lift, first, in order to come back and land properly.”

“Come back,” Dean repeated softly, the words almost a hum. Castiel knew what he was thinking. The words had been chosen carefully, and he let the young man struggle with his temptation. Dean stared out across the densely forested valley below, uninhabited by humans as far as the eye could see.

“Cas, can I ask you a question?” he sang, without glancing away from the misty expanse before him.

“You may ask any questions you want when we are alone.”

“Do you know where my brother Sammy is at this moment?”

The question wasn't the obvious ploy for factual information, Castiel knew. He was probing to see whether the estrie were keeping watch over his family. In an indirect manner, Dean wanted to know if Castiel would adhere to his threat to capture the younger Winchester son, were Dean to fail.

Unfortunately for him, Castiel always kept his word. “Your brother has been placed in the care of other hunters in the north-central area of the great grassland. Your father suspects the estrie are responsible for your capture, and has crossed the human political border in search of us. This sanctuary is too remote and unknown for him to track, however, and he is currently not even located in the correct province. There is no hope of rescue before the bonding tonight.”

Dean still didn't budge from the ledge. “I'm never going to see them again, am I?”

“No, child. It is far too late for you to ever return. We will create a new family now. Step back so we can resume the lesson.”

For the first time in two days, Dean didn't reflexively obey. “I'm not a child,” he called back, his face for once not bleeding the emotions of a human, but a blank mask. And then he launched himself off the side of the mountain.

Without thinking through the consequences, Castiel swooped after him. Every protocol said he should let the young man fall or fly away as he wished, and let the underlings take care of it. But Castiel couldn't stand to allow someone on the cusp of turning to meet his death, and have to start all over again with an even younger human. To protect his family, Dean wouldn't run away or lose himself to the mountain, Castiel could sense it in his bones.

Dean's take-off was clumsy and inept, and Castiel nearly expected his wings to rip off as he expanded them against the gale of falling. But the luck of the wind was behind him, and he managed to stabilize into a horizontal glide, curving around and hugging the mountain ridge in a downward drift. As Castiel caught up to him, he saw Dean grinning as he soared, his eyes tightly closed in obvious enjoyment of the wind and freedom and near-death adrenaline rush of dropping hundreds of feet. Castiel hung back and watched his happiness, despite the fact that a youngling flying with his eyes closed was a spectacularly foolish thing to do. Dean's joy in his new body and abilities was contagious, and Castiel let himself fall and recover too, just for fun, as if he were back as a baby estrie tossed off a balcony into a parent's arms.

Eventually he saw Dean buffeted by currents and nearly strike rock outcroppings one too many times, so Castiel sang out the command to follow him, with more compulsion this time. He managed to guide them into one of the lowest entrance tunnels to the estrie cave complex. Dean shot into the mouth of the tunnel and came to a bruising halt rolling in the dust on his stomach. The guards raised their eyebrows at their unheralded and unorthodox arrival from above, and Castiel waved at them to fly away without expending so much as a single flat note on their presence.

“You disobeyed me, youngling,” Castiel said when they were alone, without moving to help him up. “You could have killed yourself.”

Dean dragged himself to his feet and brushed off his battered clothing. “You wanted me to fly and I did. Isn't that enough?”

Castiel grabbed him and shoved him up against a cave wall, his folded wings cushioning the impact. “No. It is not enough. You must obey me at all times, Dean. Tonight, in front of others, when we are alone, forever. I'm glad you enjoyed your wings and the sky, but I cannot tolerate insubordination.” Both of their ruachs were close to the surface after the exertion, and as Castiel leaned on him they both consumed tiny tastes of the others' spirit.

“I'm … sorry,” Dean murmured at length, breathing out the notes. “I didn't want another lesson with only baby steps. Sometimes you just want to jump in and do something, you know?”

“I know the impulse.” Castiel was inhaling both his scent and his energy, and knew that he if only pushed forward a few inches, Dean would unconditionally give him everything he demanded and more. Instead Castiel pulled back. “But you must learn to control those impulses, or you will burn through what remains of your life in very short order.”

Dean moved off the wall with his back and stepped forward, back into Castiel's aura but not presumptuous enough to touch. “Do you ever lose control, Cas? You jumped after me when you didn't have to. You could have let me die.”

“I do not. A fact you will be grateful for tonight, youngling. Come, I will teach to uplift back to our chambers at the upper levels. It requires much more exertion than gliding down, and then perhaps you can rest before the ceremony tonight.”

Dean bowed his head and walked towards the cave entrance, as Castiel was motioning him. But he hummed very quietly, just as they pushed off the edge. It sounded like:

_I don't believe you._

 

^^^^^

 

Hours later, they were ready for presenting to Castiel's father Anael, his four brothers, and the rest of the council leaders. Castiel kept his distance after escorting Dean back up the mountain, instructing his servants to allow him sleep and prepare him as evening approached. He took the opportunity to conserve energy himself, but didn't trust his restraint enough to rest next to Dean's tempting soft feathers and inviting spirit. Castiel knew he should explain the ceremony in advance, but Dean knew enough now passively await orders and follow along.

“Well, he certainly is beautiful,” commented Gabriel, circling Dean's silent form. They had him standing on a flat rock for inspection, arms behind his back and head bowed in respect to the higher-ranked individuals all around him. They were in the center of a wide room with soaring ceilings and a vaulted view of the southern stars, although it was not the same space as the altar three nights earlier. “Scrawnier than before, although that is to be expected. He'll never grow to full size, honorable brother. But perhaps you prefer that.”

“I'm aware of where his body's energy will be diverted, honorable brother,” Castiel replied evenly, never one to let Gabriel provoke him. “It is what it is.”

Dean glanced up at this for a hard betrayed stare at Castiel before remembering his respect and dropping his eyes. Gabriel noticed the indiscretion and laughed, and lifted Dean's chin up so he was forced to look him in the eye. “Not so beaten down as you appear, are you little one? I think I approve. My honorable brother could use a little rebellion in his life. Spread your new wings for us, so we can all see.”

Dean complied, stretching out to full wingspread to murmured approval. His feathers were mostly an enriched black, except for a few streaks of silvery white down by his shoulder blades. Gabriel let go his chin and walked around his back to get a better look. He ran his fingers down the shoulder of bones holding up the feathers, and Dean shivered.

“Very, very nice. I wonder if your brother would turn out as pretty as you. Guess we have to wait a few years for that.”

Castiel jumped in just as the Dean's shout began to escape his lips. “I made a promise, honorable brother, that if the young man cooperated we would leave his family in peace. And I will keep to that agreement if he submits tonight. Do you contradict my word, Gabriel?”

Gabriel bowed his head in submission, although a little too slow for Castiel's taste. “No, brother. Although I will state my objection now that allowing young proto-hunters with grudges against us to survive and breed more rat-humans is a poor strategy for the future.”

“Enough.” Their father Anael stood up from his throne on the dais. “If Castiel has given his word, then that is the end of discussion. If the hunters somehow manage to track us here, we will take action then. There is no benefit in drawing more of their ire now.”

Anael, too, walked around Dean, gently pressing between the shoulder blades as he passed to signal him to lower his wings. Castiel's father was not a very imposing figure, physically; he was shorter and lighter than many estrie, having expended perhaps too much energy producing his five offspring. But in the realm of spirit Anael held enormous power, and here he leaned on Dean, much in the same way Castiel had pressed up against him in the cave that morning, feeding on his ruach and probing his altered neshama. Dean's head dropped backwards as a rush of pleasure washed over him, unconsciously offering his neck and body up for sacrifice.

Castiel held as still as a stone during the examination. He knew his father would not significantly drain Dean's strength. At last Anael broke off as Dean opened his dilated eyes, breathing in measured gasps. Castiel recognized with approval one of the techniques for quelling his arousal.

Anael nodded up his blessing for Dean's transformation. “He certainly has sufficient vigor for a mate, although he needs to work on self-discipline. Typical for one so young. Do you wish to proceed, Castiel? It will soon be starbreak, and he will be fully estrie. This is your last opportunity to absorb his energies back into the clan.”

“I do wish to continue, honorable father. He has demonstrated more than adequate worth.”

“What name do you choose, my son?”

“Diniel, honorable father.”

Anael smiled at the choice, although basing the estrie name on the human one was not uncommon. “Let us hope the name does indeed reflect good judgment, my Castiel. I heard he tried to escape this morning, and you … persuaded him to acquiesce.”

Castiel stared through his father at the subtle rebuke, and avoided Gabriel's irritating smirk. “You were erroneously informed, honorable father. He fell an unusual amount but recovered himself. There was no attempt to leave the mountain.”

“I see.” Anael turned back to Dean, who had been standing obediently at attention. “And you, little one? Do you agree to bond to my eldest son, knowing that your life force will be consumed for the holy task of reproduction? Or do you prefer that we sacrifice your life now? This is the only decision I will ever grant you, youngling, so make a good choice.”

Dean desperately shot a look at Castiel for confirmation he should speak, but just as he was motioning Dean to continue, Anael cupped his chin to direct him away. “I know you're not mute, boy. When I ask you a question, you will answer swiftly and precisely. You can look to your mate for guidance for most of your existence as an estrie, but I outrank him, always and forever. What is your response?”

“I … choose to give life with Castiel … uh, honorable one,” Dean managed to stammer out, losing most of the melody.

“Very well.” Anael turned back towards his sons and gestured Castiel forward. “Work with him on his voice, my son, I find it grating. I see the three stars now. Songmaster, begin the blessings.”

One of the council members stepped forward and began a slow, poignant, wordless hymn. The rest of the small group present hummed support harmonics as Castiel stepped close to Dean and took his hands in his own. As they touched, the songmaster shifted into the oldest intonations of the ancient language, staccato and repetitive above the humming countermelody.

When the blessings concluded and the last tones lingered through the chamber, Castiel dropped Dean's hands and removed a small ceremonial dagger from his robe. He made a tiny nick in his right wrist and another in Dean's, and pressed the wounds together. Then, before the cuts had time to coagulate, Castiel brought his wrist to Dean's lips, and Dean's wound to his own. Dean didn't struggle this time, but closed his eyes in submission and cautiously sucked.

On this occasion the blood magic was less a roaring wave threatening to wash him away, and more an insistent tide, waxing and waning. Castiel could sense the soul exchange, nefesh mostly, flowing both ways. Unlike the transformation, he didn't feel drained; unlike a regular feeding, he wasn't energized and satisfied. Instead Castiel experienced a calm buzzing as their life energies coalesced and reverberated back, both magnified and reflected. After the cravings of the past few days, and knowing what would be required before daybreak, Castiel was surprised at the lack of sexual charge.

The exchange faded as they both had their fill, and Castiel pulled his wrist away from Dean's mouth. He leaned forward to whisper a hushed song, “Follow me, honorable mate. No more putting you on display.” Castiel rose straight up through the opening to the stars, not glancing behind him, for he knew Dean could and would follow right behind him.

 

^^^^^^

 

They landed back up at the entrance chamber to Castiel's quarters. Dean seemed dazed at the swift events that had just taken place. “Did … did we just get married?” he asked as they walked down to the inner bedroom.

“Partially.” Castiel sealed the door as Dean flopped backwards onto the now-familiar bed, facing the ceiling.

“I expected more of a, uh, celebration.” His speech was still stifled and halting, as Castiel imagined he was trying to translate from some barbarian word. “Don't the estrie ever relax and have fun?”

“We celebrate after the first child is born. Only that is proof that the union was successful.”

“What happens if the union is _unsuccessful?_ You eat me and try again with someone else?”

“I have no need to ingest your body,” Castiel told him sternly, and Dean made a noise that he interpreted as disbelief. Clearly the young man needed more knowledge about the situation in order to accept his future. Castiel should have informed him of the rites long before now. “No, youngling, no separation. There is only one chance at a union. Once all three souls have been exchanged, you can never exchange again with another and hope to successfully conceive a child.”

“Souls? Looked like blood magic.”

“Every thinking creature has three souls, _nefesh, ruach_ and _neshama_. Nefesh is the life energy present in all organisms of the earthly realm. Even plants and insects have nefesh. Ruach is the animating force in animals, also embodied in sexual energy and movement. When we feed, it is primarily to siphon off ruach. Creating an estrie child requires a great deal of ruach. You can sense and manipulate this when we are physically close, if you concentrate on it.” Castiel hovered a hand just above Dean's chest and pulled slightly, barely enough to taste, then cut it off before either one of them could get too aroused. He wanted – hoped – not to force him this time, no pheromones or magic or chains, but to gently overcome his reluctance.

“Finally,” Castiel continued, “all upper creatures of the Earth, those capable of sentient thought, have a neshama, a different type for each kind. The neshama is difficult to consume or alter, as you know from the blood magic we used to transform you. It is the same when a human neshama is turned into a werewolf or demon or any of the other creatures your father so valiantly battles. There is always a blood price for such transfiguration.”

Castiel laid down facing Dean's shoulder, as the young man continued to stare at the ceiling. His hair and neck smelled alluring, and once again Castiel reigned his temptation in.

“Cas?” he finally ventured.

“We're alone, Dean. Ask any questions you want.”

“What your brother said about Sammy...” The words came rushing out now, harsh and atonal, as Dean forgot himself in his distress. “Promise me, Cas. Swear on your honor you will never let them take him, or I swear on _my_ honor I will fly away from here at first light. And I don't care how many underlings you post to trap and kill me. That's the agreement. Promise. I know you won't go back on your word.”

Castiel shifted in irritation at being ordered around like a subling, but he could tell the topic was of the highest importance to Dean. Strange that the young brother prompted more loyalty than the father, who could easily be killed in some foolhardy rescue attempt. Castiel would certainly have a different set of priorities. “I already made a public declaration, but if you wish: I give you my solemn word that the estrie will let your brother live in peace, so long as it is in my power to do so. Is that all that is bothering you?”

“All I care about.” His jagged, nervous breathing and the scent of fear indicated otherwise, though. Castiel decided to nudge him, to see if the anxiety lay where he suspected.

“Very well. Remove your robe now, it is time for mating.”

The fear surged up, although Dean obediently rolled his back towards Castiel and fumbled with the fasteners above and below his wings. Castiel slowly assisted, while contemplating what to do with a near-child who was terrified of the most basic sexual acts. Logically, Castiel knew he shouldn't concern himself with Dean's temporary fears. Within a week Dean would be so starving for energy he'd beg to be bent over any horizontal surface. But it seemed a matter of honor that his first experience as an estrie be pleasurable, as well as the practical concern that Dean possess the skills to feed himself, if necessary.

Castiel removed his own robe and sank back down into the bed against Dean's side. He was curled away from him, as if to both offer up his body and hide away. “You're afraid,” Castiel whispered behind his ear. “Why are you afraid?”

“You know, Cas.”

“Tell me anyway. Honestly.”

“Last time...” Dean began to shiver, and barely managed to choke the words out. “It hurt. Even with that drug. Can't we do something that won't hurt? I'm sorry.”

“Nothing will be painful if you are relaxed. Come, let me show you.”

He rolled Dean's tense body onto his back, and dragged a hand down below his cock. “Control your breathing, as you learned yesterday. Yes, better. Now insert one of your fingers, slowly, while imagining yourself opening up at the same time. There is excess moisture on both of our penises if you require lubrication.”

“I can't...”

“ _Do it,”_ Castiel commanded. “You must become comfortable and familiar with your own body. Whatever you were taught as a human male you must forget, for you soon will become a holy carrier parent, and hardly a day will go by that you do not require intercourse to meet your child's needs.”

“Why do I have to be the woman?” Dean muttered.

“There is no male or female with us, I know you have observed. Traditionally the weaker mate of the pair is the recipient and carries the young. That leaves the stronger party to carry out good deeds in other arenas.”

“That doesn't make sense, Cas. If it takes so much energy, shouldn't the stronger one carry the kids? Maybe then the pregnant one wouldn't die, and you'd have two parents to raise the kids.”

Castiel refused to be swayed by this impressive bit of logic. “It is tradition. And you are stalling on your lesson.”

“Lesson. Right.” He sighed and spread his legs, and with a grimace stuck a finger in his mouth and then tried to work it in. With a little effort he made it about an inch, and Castiel rested a hand on his wrist as a signal to stop.

“What can you feel?”

“Tightness?” ventured Dean.

“Yes, that's the lower sphincter muscle. Keep going. You'll feel muscle even beyond the 'tightness'. This is all new and necessary to deliver a child without damaging your bowel.”

“Ugh. Can we skip the anatomy lecture?” After continuing, however, he added, “Wait, I feel something … sticky? Hot? I don't want to know.”

“The warmth comes from the womb, which will heat even more as we add energy to it.”

“Yeah, I was right, didn't want to know.” Dean moved to pull out, but Castiel firmly held his wrist again.

“Now, with your finger still inside you, I want you to feed on me.”

“How?” squeaked Dean. “I don't know how. I don't even know what that means.”

“You do know. You were feeding on me last night without even thinking about it, so stop thinking now. Reach out with your mind and feel my ruach, and pull it towards yourself. Imagine yourself doing it, and you will be.”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and allowed his restless body to calm. Almost immediately Castiel felt that unusual combination of being drained and aroused at the same time, disconcerting in that he was normally the recipient, not the source. Castiel too had to adjust to his new position providing sustenance to his mate. Dean wasn't pulling hard, so Castiel willed a surge into him and the young gasped and bucked against his finger.

“Does that feel good, my mate?” Castiel drawled into his neck.

Dean wordlessly moaned his assent. “Can I touch myself? Please? So hard, please, I won't come, _please_.”

“Not yet. You must learn to absorb much more. Push two fingers inside yourself, deeper, beyond the womb.”

He struggled again to obey the words, especially since Castiel infused even more ruach at the same time. Castiel didn't touch his cock, but he did wrap his arms around him, using one hand to pull open a hip for maximum depth and the other to stroke the soft gray fur all over his chest. Dean finally discovered the pleasurable organ at the length of his fingertips, still present despite all the alterations that had occurred over the past few days. He writhed hard against his own fingers, no longer reluctant or ashamed so long as the spirit flowed in.

Castiel decided Dean's body had been prepared enough, while his soul begged to be entered, split open, merged. Castiel's own desire was raw and urgent, and he knew at that moment he'd give and give until every trace of life force was ground down to dead stone. Without using words to warn or instruct, he rolled Dean over so they were facing each other and tugged on his wrist to remove the fingers. Dean whimpered at the loss, but quieted down as Castiel wrapped a leg around his own hip and slowly entered him. The flow of energy shot up a dozen-fold, and Dean moaned in a daze, unable to move and at the limits of his absorption.

“Are you uncomfortable, little one?” Castiel managed to ask. Even if the answer was in the affirmative, he didn't know if he'd be able to stop. The entrance to the womb was indeed inflamed and sticky, ready to be pried open with an angle shift and filled with the life-spark _zera_. For the moment, though, Castiel doubled down on their intertwined position, curling Dean even closer and wrapping his left wing around to touch his mate's. He wanted enclose them, seal their souls forever just between the two of them.

“Weird, all right, not bad, I don't know?” Dean sang. The words were jumbled confusion, but his eyes were bright and alive and his voice was as melodic as a spring bird. “I want something, I don't know what I want...”

Castiel slid a hand all the way up from his hip to his neck, and pulled him in to kiss. At once, the neshama began to flow.

For all his years experience feeding on humans, Castiel had never kissed anyone. It was a sacred and vulnerable act, one that the estrie reserved for the most profound occasions, and never to be befouled on a mere animal. Dean may have kissed someone before – Castiel was neither knew nor cared about adolescent human mating rituals – but they both fumbled and sucked, attempting to draw in the other's spirit. Castiel had always been taught that the mouth was a secret window to the soul, a belief he was now firmly converted to. Although the ruach flowed solely in one direction as Dean depleted him, their neshamas were a chaotic maelstrom. Perhaps this was the mystery of how new souls were created.

Castiel began to thrust, shallowly at first to graze the entrance to the womb. Dean widened his hips to meet his movements, welcoming him at last as if to drink in every last drop Castiel had to offer: his blood, his seed, all traces of strength, energy, will. As his soul drained Castiel realized he could not hold back; the euphoria was rapidly peaking to ecstasy, no longer under his own volition. Dimly he noted that the transfer of energy might give Dean more strength to control his orgasm, to his dismay. He kissed the young man again even as he pumped, reveling in the mingled souls, then gasped, “Come when I do.”

Dean, frustrated for days on end, needed no further encouragement. His hand flew to his cock even as he groaned to Castiel face. The transfer of sexual energy seemed to accelerate, as if Dean's soul were drawing him to uncontrollable heights. The loss of discipline should have been terrifying, but now, as Castiel relinquished his mind and let his neshama guide him, all he knew was vast gratification, pleasure, and peace.

As they came, Castiel experienced something unique in his life experience: A piece of his soul broke off and flew away. He wasn't simply drained of energy and in need of refueling, but instead something vital and irreplaceable had been lost and transferred deep into his mate. Some part of him would say stolen, but that was wrong; Castiel had voluntarily let it go as a small death. The seed of the child, he was positive, like an ember off the mother fire that needed careful fanning to grow into a flame of its own.

Dean's features looked rapturous as he came down from the high, joyous, brimming with life. Not unlike the expression that had graced his face that morning as he flew through the skies. Castiel felt a secondary wave of relief at his happiness, proof somehow that he had handled Dean with every bit of care that he knew.

“Are we done?” Dean sang in muffled tones into his chest, at length. “Are we mated?”

Castiel rubbed his face into Dean's wavy hair as he took a momentary rest. He barely had the wherewithal to to hold his half-hard cock inside his mate, to ensure every last bit of zera was absorbed. They so close together he could feel the fiery womb throbbing as it pressed against his abdomen. “No. And yes. We must continue until I reach exhaustion, and can hardly fly off the mountain to replenish myself. Again and again and again.”

Dean didn't wait for him to recover before craning his neck to kiss him, and mustered his will to feed again.


	4. Rebirth

Dean awoke just before starbreak, famished as he'd ever been for the past four weeks. Castiel was still unconscious in a warm puddle next to him, his breathing jagged from exhaustion. Dean didn't bother to wake him up before sliding down under the covers, for he knew he had blanket permission to feed. It was the only thing he didn't have to bow or grovel or beg “please, honorable one” in order to get to do, and Dean regularly took advantage. He took Castiel's cock in his mouth and licked hard without finesse, eager not for the erection or slick lubrication in his mouth – still disgusting, although he disliked it less than getting fucked – but for the temporary relief of Castiel's sexual energy flowing like a balm into his soul.

Cas had been right: Dean was never _not_ hungry anymore with that parasite inside him, and apparently he had it in him to whore out for every meal. Dean hated himself with the forthright knowledge that he was just as parasitic as that blind leech, but then buried the thought deep with his cut hair and English slang and wingless back. All the Winchester had been fucked and blood magicked out of him, leaving only the sacred slave Diniel left. To everyone but Cas that is, who did sort of worship his body in his own candid, dutiful way. And he still called him Dean in private, a fact for which Dean was irrationally grateful, as useless as it was.

Sucking Castiel off only resulted in crumbs of food, but like every day he had fed Dean to the point of collapse after returning from his own hunting. So after waking up Dean really couldn't do more than top off. He shoved Cas's cock down his throat as far as he could stand, while wrapping one hand around the base and resting his other hand on Cas's abdomen to begin the soul feed. Castiel moaned in his sleep and his eyes fluttered, and what little juice he had left trickled in. The foggy euphoria of arousal washed over Dean, which he relaxed into but did not press. Dean was an expert now in holding back, just wallowing in sub-orgasmic pleasure, to the point he'd practically forgotten what it felt like to wake up with morning wood and hurriedly jack off to release tension. It was his own personal victory to pull it back, reserve the energy for his own survival.

Cas's eyes opened, unfocused and groggy, but he was awake enough now to put his will into the energy transfer. Dean increased his pull at the same time, reveling in draining Castiel down. Not just because he needed it for the flight later that night, but for the small heady bit of power it gave him. Castiel never said no, never asked him to stop, never looked at Dean with anything other than calm approval no matter how much he siphoned off. Sometimes Dean suspected he could take it all from Castiel if he concentrated enough, suck his mate down to a desiccated corpse and spare his own messy death. Cas would do anything to give his child life; in the end, would he offer himself up as the sacrifice? Dean intended to find out.

Unfortunately Castiel had concluded that his limits had been reached, and now planned an additional source of feeding for Dean. Cas had been wobbly flying off every evening at starbreak for weeks now, feeding on upwards of five humans a night before returning and transferring most of it to his young charge. Tonight, for the first time, he was bringing Dean off the mountain with him to feed together. It would be his first encounter with humans since his transformation.

The worm below his belly flipped in joy at the delightful breakfast snack, and without pausing the thrusts of his mouth Dean wriggled in annoyance to get it to stop. It had just starting moving a few days ago, brushing his insides like a faint tickle, and he despised it. He hated any reminder of the vile little monster inside him, which was literally eating him from the inside and would mindlessly consume its own parent as it was born. Dean fantasized about getting rid of it – letting himself fall on a rock? stabbing his gut with their own ceremonial mating knife? – but while that would be it for Castiel's lineage, it opened the door for his douchebag brother assaulting little Sammy.

So Dean plodded on. He had no intention of giving the thing any more attention than was minimally necessary for its survival. The estrie wanted an incubator, they got one.

The twitching caused his focus to drop a bit, but Cas was reaching his peak so Dean was able to recover, pulled along the sexual current like a swift-flowing river. He bore down as Cas jerked into his mouth, nearly gagging on the come but managing to swallow the liquid and the spike of ruach along with it. For a few lightheaded seconds Dean felt satiated, and an electric happiness flashed through his body. Then his abdomen twinged again, and the pleasure disappeared as fast as it came, replaced by the muscle-clenching gnawing for _more._ Dean licked his lips and rested his fingers on a hip, pulling just the tiniest amount to gauge both Castiel's strength and his emotional reaction. Exhausted, but not fully drained. Castiel could hold back too.

Dean crawled back up and curled on top of Castiel's jaggedly-moving chest. Cas liked that, and on Dean's more honest days he admitted that laying skin to skin was comforting to him as well, when it wasn't just a prelude to sex. “You're tired,” he sang softly, so as not to annoy Cas as he woke up. “Are we still flying out tonight?”

Castiel let his long wavy hair run through his fingers, which Dean found soothing when he wasn't reminded that the hair was _his._ Good thing the estrie didn't have mirrors, so he wasn't forced to think of his altered appearance very often.In the beginning he had to fight the urge to chop it off or tie it back, which Cas had reacted to with avid disgust. Now that Dean was used to it, the mane no longer made him feel like some kind of black angelic elf – or worse, a _girl_ – but was simply a blank anesthetized extension of himself, like the wings. Stroking the feathers was nice, though, now that he was used to that too. Cas tried to be nice, and often succeeded in his own weird aloof way.

“We have no choice. You require more energy than I can provide.”

 _Give me more, Cas,_ Dean thought. _Suck it up and give me everything._ But all he said was: “Do you want to bathe before we go?”

“No.” Castiel moved Dean's head to the pillow and creakily rolled out of bed to stretch his wings. “We should go now, while you are at peak strength. We will bathe when we return.”

“Yes, honorable one.” He paused, then asked the question really on his mind. “Where are we going?”

Cas frowned at his forwardness. “The human political names are irrelevant. It will be a much longer flight than you have ever undertaken, though. Get dressed, little one.”

They assembled at the tallest south-facing launching pad cut deep in the peak of the mountain, not far from their lofty chambers. Not only Castiel and Dean but a host of others, all clad in black and blending in with the rock now that the sun dimmed below the far-curved horizon. Dean saw at least three other pregnant ones milling about, and evaded their curious glances. He had stuck to himself all those evenings Cas had flown off, avoiding both socializing and confrontation and performing his lowly laundry duties with desultory obedience. They had assigned him a shit job, because, as it turned out, being the eldest heir's bonded fucktoy didn't exactly elevate Dean to Crown Prince status. Plus all of the honorable estrie were expected to pitch in, and not just to lend their guts to little cannibal monsters either.

The platform also included a surprising number of children, a fact that made Dean shudder when he thought about what they were about to fly off and do. When did they start sexual feeding? It must be very young; kids couldn't mooch off their parents forever, and they rarely ate human food. He hadn't really asked any questions about childhood in general, or Cas's in particular. How long did they take to grow up? Was there some sort of estrie school? Besides nightly feeding and a whole lot of bowing and singing, what was their life _for_ anyway?

The mekashef wandered around with a large steaming bowl of something pungent, offering sips. “For extra energy,” Castiel hummed in a low voice, and bade him to drink. Apparently even monsters needed their morning cup of joe, but Dean didn't have the words to make a joke out loud. “Coffee” didn't translate in the language he was allowed to speak.

A wordless song begun to be woven in the wind, one of the complex ones where singers dropped in and out and added their own counter-harmonies at will. Then small clusters of estrie dropped off the escarpment and flew off in all directions, save north. Castiel took Dean by the hand and recited a short song that matched perfectly to the dimming chorus swirling away from the heights. A formal blessing, Dean realized; he just hadn't recognized the melody. Then, still holding hands before expanding out to full wingspan, the two of them too launched off the mountain.

They flew west for what felt like hours, chasing the glow of the setting sun. Dean had figured out weeks before that they were far north, based on how little night there was, here in the middle of the summer. Alaska maybe, or Canada. The mountain must become a treacherous icicle in the winter. Dean wondered if they all flew south to some other sanctuary like a flock of birds. He didn't want to bug Cas to ask, although they could sing to each well enough while flying.

Although it was definitely more exercise than he'd done in a long time, the flight invigorated Dean. Almost like a rare bit of freedom, although Cas was directing where they were going. Gliding through the air was one of the few times Dean felt comfortable in his wings, as if they were truly a seamless part of his body, instead of the awkward foreignness when he rolled over on them in bed. It was surprising to Dean that he didn't hate the wings in the same way he despised the fur and baby growth-thing and even his hair, which after all were just the same fucking locks, only longer. Dean associated the wings with grace and strength and beauty, the few things left to like about his body. Also escape, for a very brief time.

Late in the night, well after Dean's eyes had adjusted to deep darkness, they circled around to a small village by a lake. A few lights were visible, but for the most part the town was dead silent at this time of night. Cas landed them on a dusty street far from any streetlights. He examined the nearest house with his head tipped, as if listening to a faint tap far away. Then Castiel shook his head and walked down a couple more houses.

“One of the occupants was partially awake,” he explained, using the toneless buzzing subvocalization that the estrie used for whispering. The words were almost a vibration, flat and unemotional. “If you extend your neshama, you can sense the state of the souls inside. When animals are asleep, the ruach is looser, less attached to the body. Everyone inside must be in the deepest sleep before you enter and dose them with the soporific. Otherwise they could awaken while feeding.”

Castiel stopped off to the side of another indistinguishable clapboard house. “Try this one,” he said. “Concentrate and tell me how many humans are inside.”

Dean closed his eyes and tried to sense it. Cas's own tasty soul next to him was a terrible distraction, but with effort he was able to filter that out and feel for the occupants in front of him. Four beings had a ruach, but only two had the sharp doubling of the neshama too. “Two people and two pets?” he guessed. He couldn't tell what state of sleep they were in.

“Humans, not people,” Castiel chided. “But that is correct. In time you will be able to tell how deep a sleep they are in and whether they are of appropriate reproductive age. This will do for your first time.” He started to walk towards the porch stairs, but Dean suddenly pulled him back.

“Wait, Cas, what if there are dogs? They could attack us. Or bark and wake up the owners.”

“The two subanimals are cats, not dogs. You will be able to distinguish species with time as well. Felines are unperturbed by our presence.”

“But… what if the door is locked?” That sounded lame even to him, and Cas was beginning to frown.

“They generally do not lock the doors in this area. But if this one is, we simply choose another house. There are billions of humans in the world, Dean, we can always find more. Come. Now.”

They simply walked in the front door, and here the surreal nature of their surroundings hit Dean like rockfall off the sacred mountain. It wasn't the breaking and entering – Dad had taught him how to pick locks years ago – but the familiarity of the country plates on the walls and dumpy sofa and grandma-era record/tape deck overwhelmed him. It didn't just look human, it _smelled_ human too, like real food and dish soap and carpeting and a litter box somewhere. They had pork chops for dinner. It was someone's _home_ they had just invaded.

Dean froze, unable to take another step towards their victims. Castiel stared at him for a long second, probably smelling his confusion and fear. Then, without malice but also without giving him any choice, he reached behind Dean's wings and firmly grasped him by the back of the neck, and pushed him up the stairs.

Inside the bedroom the two figures were buried in a large bed beneath flimsy sheets. Their souls were much closer now, and Dean craved a taste to relieve him of the insatiable hunger. He inhaled the pheromone as Castiel released it into the room, and the couple shifted as they too unknowingly breathed it in. Their souls seemed to emerge in sharp relief as arousal overtook them, juicy, tender, enticing. The baby flipped in glee of its next meal.

When the couple were sufficiently affected by the soporific, Castiel pulled back the sheets to reveal their slimly-clad bodies. They were both wearing nothing but underwear and T-shirts, the man already erect, the woman curled up against his back. The woman looked like any number of schoolteachers Dean had had over the years, nothing like the slim teenage nymph he'd imagined before today.

“But they're old!” he blurted out.

Cas whipped his head around in confusion to examine the couple. “No, they are still well within reproductive age,” he said. “You will take the male since their sexual arousal is easier to control, and you are now accustomed to penetration. The emissions will be beneficial to the baby.”

Dean backed up two steps in horror. “What? Cas, I can't. I can't. Please don't make me do this.”

Castiel stepped up to his side before he could gain the courage to flee, and cupped Dean's distraught face. “You can. You must put aside all vestigial notions of sexual attraction. The humans' appearance is irrelevant. This is not mating. This is only feeding.”

“But they're people,” Dean whispered.

“No,” Cas soothed back. “They are a source of nourishment, nothing more. When you were human, you consumed meat, correct?”

Dean nodded, and sniffed. No crying. Never again.

“Animals had to die to feed you then, and you probably did not ever think of it. In the region of your birth, many of the food animals are raised under horrific conditions, and never permitted even an hour of life as their kinds should have. We do not do that. We do not torture our prey or cause suffering in the name of 'efficiency'. For the most part we let the humans live as they please, and minimize the harm as we feed. These two will live a long life after we are gone, and never know what was taken from them.”

 _Free-range humans,_ thought Dean bitterly, but he couldn't laugh. The whole world was a feed lot.

Cas bent his head to give him a gentle kiss, and their neshamas flowed. Dean's hunger was like a living beast, but Cas was not enough, he needed more, the worm needed more, _they_ needed more...

“You won't hurt them, I promise,” Castiel sang softly, in the most soothing tones. “Take off your underclothes now, Dean.”

Dean found himself obeying. Cas continued to touch his face, feed him just a tiny bit, to whet his appetite. The baby flipped at the taste, like a nagging insect Dean wanted to swat, or an itch that couldn't be scratched, or some other metaphor of annoyance. But there was no escape, even with wings. The only way out was to consume and feed, in a wholly different sort of hunt from those he'd been trained his entire life to do.

“Now remove his underclothes. Slowly, so he doesn't wake up, down to the knees.”

With shaking hands, Dean complied. The guy smelled like sweat and onions, and Dean forced himself not to gag. The dick was swollen red hot, gooey, with the biggest ball sack Dean had ever seen up close. He squeezed his eyes shut yet again, and leaned in to take it into his mouth. Maybe sucking him off would get this over with faster. But then his head snapped back as Cas jerked his hair, rougher than he'd been in weeks.

“Not the mouth,” Cas hissed, revolted. “Never use the mouth on animals.”

“You sucked blood from me when I was still an animal,” Dean shot back.

Castiel looked exasperated, and Dean wondered what other rules or taboos he was supposed to magically know. Why didn't Cas just tell him what to expect? Maybe in advance for once, instead of letting him blunder around?

“Blood is different. Blood is sacred, powerful. This is an ordinary feeding, not a holy ceremony,” Castiel said. “You know how to feed, so do it. Do not force me to order you again, youngling.”

“All right, all right.” At Cas's glare, he added a more respectful “Yes, honorable one” under his breath. Somehow the immobile spell of revulsion was broken, however, and Dean took a deep breath and straddled the man's thighs, facing his snoring head. Before doing anything else, he hovered a hand over the belly in front of him, then slowly lowered his palm onto skin. The draw of fresh soul surged up his arm, and he pulled hard, drinking in the exotic new taste. Even without sexual stimulation to enhance the flow, and even without Castiel's comforting neshama to accompany it, the energy was refreshing and enervating. Dean arched his back in pleasure, and stroked the man's cock with his free hand to amp up the response from both of them.

Cas leaned over him from the side of the bed, and massaged the back of his neck, gently this time. The touch allowed him to taste the feed too, although mercifully he didn't siphon off much. “Good, good,” he hummed into Dean's hair. “Feel better now?”

Dean nodded in his direction through half-lidded eyes, lost in the sensation. Cas stopped pulling on the soul feed, but he continued to run his hands along Dean's back, then his feathertips, and buried his face in Dean's hair. The caress, combined with relief from the insistent hunger that nagged him every minute of the day, was so full of loving comfort that Dean couldn't bear to move. He held still and relaxed back against Cas's chest, hands on this stranger and feathers against his mate, unable to interrupt the moment. No one but Cas had ever touched him like that, with reverence and desire. He could hardly remember touching anyone with more than a handshake for years and years, maybe since Sammy was little.

At last Castiel pulled away, although he continued to rub Dean's back. “You need to finish him now, Dean,” he murmured.

“Do I have to, um...” They both knew what he meant. Dean was sure Cas would be irritated at his reluctance, yet again, and order him to mount Mr. Gym Shorts immediately. Castiel let a lot of his insubordination slide while they were alone, but refused to take any crap where Dean's training was concerned. As was correct, it was true he didn't know jack shit about sex when all this started. Now look at him, a baby incubus who was all knocked up.

To his surprise, Cas didn't rebuke the question. “No, you don't. Everyone can choose to feed in the manner they feel is best for the situation and the human.” He let go of his wings at the words, and Dean ached at the loss of contact. “Without penetration, though, you will draw less sustenance. We will have to feed off several more humans tonight to make up for it. For a multitude of reasons, including your own capacity to restrain yourself, I do not recommend you penetrate him. But I will leave the decision up to you.”

Castiel moved over to the other side of the bed to turn his attention to the woman, leaving Dean dumbfounded at what he should do. The choice was _his?_ He'd hardly made three decisions in the month since turning estrie, plus not even five minutes ago Cas was yanking him around for doing it wrong. Was this some sort of warped test? Dangling the prospect of fucking someone else for a change, as if he had the slightest desire to rape some hairy guy in his sleep?

Dean didn't push that last thought very far.

In the end, Dean knew what he had to do. As a test he put some effort into the hand job, and really tried to draw out the ruach as hard as possible. And although the baby loved it, Dean could tell he wasn't gaining much more than the quickie blow job on Cas this morning. They needed so much more to survive, and if it wasn't this Joe Schmo it would be someone like him. As much as Dean would have liked to drain it all from Castiel, realistically that wasn't going to happen, or maybe even that wouldn't be enough. He licked his lips at how hungry he was, his thin body eating itself, the two of them starving down to nothing, because there was never ever enough.

Resigning himself to the inevitable, Dean dropped his head down and exhaled, visualizing his muscles to relax, loosen, expand. He carefully positioned himself over the guy's dick and lowered himself down. The man grunted in his sleep but didn't stir, the exact sound Dean had heard a hundred times in motel room pornos. Dean shut off his attention from the person below him and funneled all focus onto his own body and absorption of the soul energy. Not a lover, not a person, just a feeding, just energy he needed to survive. No one would get hurt. With the exercises Cas had taught him that awful feeling of stretching and fullness didn't turn to pain, but it always took a few seconds of conscious struggle to avoid panic. Then he adjusted, bottomed out, turned his whole body into a sucking machine, nothing but a receptacle for spirit to pour into.

The man's sexual response flared up, and Dean began to move even as his prey did. Just like with Cas the ruach became less a trickle and more a tidal wave, at last quenching his cravings. The soul tasted different, more raw perhaps, but Dean didn't care so long as it filled him and satisfied him. Even the worm held still in reverence at the feed. He had pushed through his discomfort like usual, and rocked hard, fucking the man vigorously to draw out every ounce of fluid and soul.

Next to him, Dean was aware Cas was doing something to the woman as well, arousing her quickly based on the sounds coming from that side of the bed, but Dean couldn't bear to look. Instead he reached out a blind hand across the bed, willing some comfort and contact. Cas must have been watching him, for he clasped the hand in his instantly. The touch electrified their bond, allowing him to feed off both humans at the same time, a double dose of the all-important fuel energy that would sustain two bodies instead of one, but Dean still trembled and wept as both he and his victim came.

 

^^^^^^

 

As weeks and then months passed by, Dean adapted. His life took on a rhythm, blurry in its constancy of flying, feeding, fucking, bathing, sleep. Rinse and repeat, as the infant in his belly slowly consumed his body in favor of its ever-enlarging own. He hardly ever thought of his family, except to dishearteningly note that Dad never found the mountain. If he had, and been captured or killed, Dean was sure either Gabriel or Tomiel would have thrown it in his face. Maybe Dad had written Dean off as a victim to the monsters; for the rest of his life, he would never know.

Then one day, he woke up and realized he no longer had the strength to fly off for the night. Dean lay in bed, lethargic, without desire or hunger or oddly even fatigue. It was as if everything had reached an equilibrium: The baby stopped growing, Dean stopped resisting, and neither one of them needed to feed. He didn't hate it anymore, for like the wings it was both foreign and a new part of him, literally made of his flesh, and how long can you stand to hate yourself?

It still didn't have a neshama that Dean could detect. Maybe it was brain dead. Maybe he killed his baby with his hate, or didn't grow it properly, and Castiel was going to turn around and breed Dean immediately in his grief and anger the second it was born. Or maybe they would just die together, that might be a relief. A happy ending. Nothing left to transform.

It was so hard to care anymore. So Dean just lay there. Content, in the present, waiting. He wondered when the pain would start. Wasn't everything born in pain? He knew he had been, both times.

Castiel slept in, since for once Dean hadn't woken him up with his insistent suckling. Cas was curled up at Dean's back, head nestled above his neatly folded wings, a hand draped along the swollen belly. Dean welcomed what comfort he could get from the contact, without stirring. The last touch, enjoyable.

When Cas did wake up, his soul flaring to alertness, he tightened his grip on the bare belly. “You didn't get up and feed,” he murmured into Dean's hair.

“I can't fly to go feeding today.” Plainspoken, no song. A fact without emotions. For once he didn't ask permission, not even implicitly.

Castiel jerked at the words and tentatively pulled at the baby's energy beneath his hand. “You are not hungry?” he asked, frowning. “It is nearly two weeks early.”

“I feel nothing.”

Dean could sense Cas's rising concern, but it was not mirrored in his own. He still enjoyed the snuggle, and all he wanted to do was lie here until the last drips of energy seeped out.

“You do not sound like yourself,” Cas said, and Dean practically laughed. He had a self to sound like? Not anymore.

“Nope, just the same ol' incubator,” he replied. It was a full three seconds before he realized he had spoken out loud in English.

In the shocked silence, Dean was sure Castiel would punish him. It was not a concern. _Hakol b'seder_ , everything would be fine, everything in order in its own proper place and time.

“You need to go to the birthing pool now,” Cas sang, after a deep pause. He was still rubbing Dean's belly, probing. Dean, wisely, did not say a word.

 

^^^^^^

 

The birthing pool, Dean now learned, was not the regular warm bath but a deep eddy in a swift-flowing mountain stream. A strange and dangerous place to have a baby, Dean thought, but he no longer questioned the ways of the estrie. All the baths were living waters, but maybe they wanted a bit more _lively_ waters for birth. In any case, Dean noted the stream was freezing cold as the servants lowered him onto a bench cut in rock from the bank. He shivered and wrapped his wings around himself as Cas entered and sat behind him. Castiel stretched his wings out even further, so it was like a double blanket around Dean's back as he leaned back on his mate. His legs rapidly became numb, however, and he opened them, wide, to anesthetize everything down there.

“How do you feel?” Cas asked, above the din of the waterfall below them.

“Cold,” Dean sang. “Is this to reduce the pain?”

“Pain?” Cas said sharply. “You are in pain?”

Dean considered the question. His brain operated by sluggishly wading through cement, but again, he didn't care. “No,” he finally came up with. “That's normal?”

“Of course. It is a natural process, why should that be painful?”

This time Dean did laugh out loud, to Castiel's confusion. Painless childbirth, why not? Maybe it was true, only the humans were cursed.

“The baby doesn't have a soul,” he informed Castiel, as if it were a minor manner. How could Cas not know? But he wasn't surprised.

“You'll see, youngling. The seed has already been planted, it needs only to grow. Stop speaking, and relax. Think of nothing but the sacred task of expelling our child from your body.”

Dean closed his eyes and concentrated on nothing but the roar of cascading water, His body felt heavy, weighty, inexplicably pulled down down down the waterfall. He stretched out his hips as wide as they could flex, bottom down, sinking. Castiel seemed to sense the position that he needed, and pulled him onto his lap, hooking Dean's legs on his own open ones. In his grogginess Dean had no idea how Castiel was really keeping him up, but his arms were tightly clenched around Dean's lower waist below the wings, holding him close. Cas began to hum a lullaby, the most awe-filled one he'd yet experienced, but it wasn't for Dean, but the first song for their child to hear. It was woven into the wind and water and rock, coaxing spirit out of inanimate matter, enticing the child to take what it needed and choose to come into the world and live.

Slowly, imperceptibly, the soul bleed crescendoed. Dean was blazing, sweaty, feverish despite the ice water running over him. In euphoric calmness, he was hemorrhaging energy. The child didn't feed so much as absorb whatever it wanted, whatever it needed, sucking down great gulps of soul from Dean and from Castiel too, and the burning remnants dispersed down the great mountain.

Dean felt tremendous pressure between his legs, stretch beyond his capacity, but still no agony, only a building fervor accompanying the energy loss. Cas slid a hand down to stroke his cock, to excite him even more, and against this Dean did wiggle and weakly resist before Cas's insistence forced him to give up. _No,_ he wanted to say, _don't, don't, I'll bleed, bleed too much, I can hold back, I'm losing it all I'm dying_ _I don't have enough to give_ _,_ but he lacked the strength to add any of that to the song. So, like he did once before in the baths an unfathomable number of months ago, he let go, let himself sink, let his spouse and captor Castiel touch him where he didn't want to be touched, let the pleasure rise and the orgasm wash over him just like the water, let what little was left of Dean Winchester die and let something else be reborn.

As he came, something slimy slid out of him, which Castiel deftly caught with one hand and pulled from the water. It looked a football-sized gray hairball coughed up by a cat. The baby didn't cry, but let out the purest note Dean had ever heard, heralding the heavens that he was alive. Dean couldn't believe – simultaneously – how such a tiny thing could real, and how something so huge could possibly have come out of his body without ripping him to shreds. He wilted back against Cas as his mate put the baby between them, nestled behind Dean's wings, while real blood leaked out of him along with all the wasted ruach.

 _Is it alive?_ he sang, his voice weak but clear, the tune pouring out of him on instinct. _Am I?_

Castiel responded in kind, in harmony. _For now, you both are._ _You had enough._ _You both will live._ And Dean was comforted, in peace.

 


End file.
